


What Could Be

by connorssock



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Concussions, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Falling Down Stairs, Hospitalisation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad Gavin, gavin whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/connorssock
Summary: While apprehending a criminal, Gavin gets thrown down some stairs. He's left to his own devices to pick himself up and recover but he can't help but imagine what getting better would be like if people in the precinct actually cared about him.





	What Could Be

          The problem of a fight between a human and an android was that it wasn’t a fair fight at all. Especially not with all the upgrades made available to those deviants who wanted them. While Gavin get as good as he got, even managed to catch up with the criminal he was chasing, their fight was short and the odds were severely stacked against him.

He only had to keep the android busy until Nines could round the corner from the other direction and they’d box the android in on the stairs. Alas, Gavin didn’t expect a foot to stomp on his knee with a sickening crack. The pain was enough to distract him from the hands which grappled him and the world tilted as he was lifted. He didn’t remember much after that, his head cracked against one of the stone steps on the way down, another couple of them slammed into his back and ribs as he tumbled the stairs. Feet stepped over his crumpled body as Nines finally got to the scene and took off after the criminal, leaving Gavin where he was.

Finally, Gavin managed to pull himself together enough to be able to manage a wheezing breath. Moving hurt, each time he blinked at his phone it wavered and his leg felt as though a fire had started inside it and was trying to burst out. At least Nines was after the suspect, hopefully he’d be able to bring them in, even if Gavin couldn’t.

After a few more breaths, Gavin managed to call himself an ambulance and let the phone drop to his side. His head felt heavy, nausea crept through him and he let himself drift off rather than contemplate rolling to his side to throw up.

Unfortunately, Gavin was one of the few sad souls who came out of sedation without a loopy grin. He blinked at the empty room and tried to fight off the crushing weight that settled on his chest. The chair next to him was empty. There was nobody around and the emptiness that settled in Gavin pushed tears down his cheeks.

Finally a nurse came by and smiled at him pityingly.

“Your Captain called, said you’re off work for a week and get well soon.”

Gavin nodded in acknowledgement and tried to take heart in the fact that Fowler at least called to pass on a message.

“Did anybody else come by?” he couldn’t help but ask. Images of Tina or Chris or maybe even Nines even popping their head in while he was out for the count made his flayed heart constrict with hope.

“Sorry,” the nurse’s response squeezed another tear from his eyes and he scrunched his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see the sad look she sent his way.

He should have expected it, nobody really cared enough about his at the precinct, or anywhere else really. No next of kin to notify that he was injured, no friends outside of work to call upon for help. His head pounded even worse as he tried to hold back the tears. Because even if he’d never visited anyone in person while out of commission, he’d always made sure that a bouquet would be delivered to the hospital room by the time the person came round, along with a box of chocolates. Everyone always assumed he didn’t care, he thought people didn’t want him to openly care. So he sent the gifts, signed it off as Everyone At The Precinct and let his good deed be attributed to everyone else.

Thoughts of what it could be like plagued him. People from the precinct stopping by with cards, maybe some flowers or chocolate, squeezing his shoulder and wishing him get well soon. It was the hugs and the soft teasing at being thrown down stairs that he missed the most. Thankfully the nurse left before Gavin’s last shreds of control unravelled and he pulled a pillow to his chest to curl around and sob into. He hated sedatives and would later blame his little meltdown on them but in his heart he knew it wasn’t actually the case.

By the evening he managed to get himself a little more under control and was desperate to get home. To get away from the sad looks nurses shot him when he glanced towards the opening door with hope each time, only to be crushed at the realisation that it was only an orderly coming in.

“I want to go home,” he told the latest nurse, face scrunched up to keep his slurring to the minimum. He’d had concussions before, knew how to handle them. “Please get the AMA discharge papers ready.”

The nurse didn’t have much of a choice, she and a doctor ran him through the risks of going home, the precautions he’d have to take and when to come back to the hospital. It was all things Gavin had already heard so he signed the papers with a nonchalant “a friend’s already on his way to pick me up.” To make it more believable he added “he hates hospitals, will meet me in the car park.”

In a way it was a half truth. He was pretty sure Hank hated hospitals and would take any chance at not setting a foot in it. The lie was that they were friends and that Hank was coming for him. As soon as the nurse and doctor left, Gavin grabbed his phone and ordered himself a taxi.

Getting out of the hospital was an adventure in excruciating pretence. The crutches he’d been given dug uncomfortably against an already black bruise on his ribs, his back strained as he tried to keep weight off the foot in a cast. He had no doubt about the state of his back and was trying to figure out how he’d be able to reach all the bruises with a soothing cream by himself. He’d manage though, he always had.

Out in the car park, he shifted uncomfortably, eyes drooping already as he wanted to sleep. People gave him looks and a wide berth as the walked past him but he didn’t have enough energy to notice.

Finally, the taxi arrived and he hobbled towards it as fast as he could. All but collapsing into the seat, he let his eyes slip shut.

“Home,” he grunted when the chirpy pre-programmed voice asked him where they were headed.

“I’m sorry, destination not recognised.”

“Home,” Gavin repeated louder.

A moment later he got the same response. He frowned, he wanted to go home, why didn’t the taxi seem to understand that? He tried again.

“Gavin Reed, home.”

“Incomplete destination provided. Please specify house number and street name.”

Oh, Gavin rubbed a hand over his face and tried to remember where he lived. Once he finally managed to mumble it and the taxi lurched into the traffic, he shut his eyes.

A beeping woke him up, the taxi chirped insistently that they’d arrived at the destination. The door was already open and it was the waft of cool air that probably woke him. With a soft hiss of pain, Gavin reached for his crutches and tumbled out of the vehicle.

He had to get up the stairs, gather a few things before he could crash out. Logically he knew that, but reality and wishful thinking bled into one as he dropped his keys while fumbling to open the door. He didn’t remember his doorway being so wobbly, but the floor followed the same pattern that shifted a little with each blink.

At long last, the door opened and he stumbled in. The couch looked as good a place to crash but he needed to get things. Water to drink and some pills - his leg was starting to itch under the cast. Perhaps he was allergic to the plaster. It would have been nice if people visited, he could imagine Tina or Nines with a bouquet and he’d need a vase for it. Or a pint glass. With water. And he needed the remote to the TV for when he woke up. Maybe the hi-fi in case he wanted to listen to music. All the remotes looked the same so he grabbed them all.

If anybody came to visit him, he’d want to offer them a drink. Images of Hank and his coffees at the precinct floated through his mind. He’d need mugs, coffee, the kettle, sugar, milk. Gavin struggled to remember what else. Maybe biscuits too, plus he’d get hungry anyway so he could nibble on them.

Exhausted and wondering when people might turn up, Gavin sprawled on the couch. His back hurt, the cushions pressed cruelly against his bruises so he twisted and turned until he was face down. It wasn’t the most comfortable but it was going to have to do. Before he could think of anything else, his eyes slipped shut and sleep dragged him down.

 

          Back at the hospital, Nines walked through the corridors. Captain Fowler had given him new orders, check in on Gavin and make sure he got the message once the working day was over. The reception desk hadn’t been very helpful in locating the detective, so Nines had taken it on himself to hack the room records to find him.

Except, when he got to room 231, it was empty. An orderly was just putting fresh linen on the bed.

“Excuse me,” Nines startled them from the doorway, “I was led to believe Detective Reed was in this room.”

“Oh, he discharged himself, said a friend was taking him home and would stay with him for the next couple of days.”

It made Nines pause for a moment. Gavin had never mentioned friends outside of work before. The quickest way to get to the bottom of the matter and find Gavin was to hack his phone records. Perhaps Nines shouldn’t have been surprised to find that the last call had been to a taxi company. Hacking the taxi’s logs was an easy matter and Nines’ processors kicked up a fuss when he realised how much time had elapsed between Gavin entering the taxi and finally moving off. The voice records from the incident didn’t fill him with confidence.

Without another word, Nines turned on his heels and made his way out of the hospital. If Gavin was home, he’d go there, deliver Fowler’s message and return to the precinct until the next day.

Gavin’s apartment block was nothing special, one in a dozen similar ones in an average neighbourhood. There wasn’t an elevator so Nines took the stairs easily until he got to the second floor. Halfway down the corridor, he found Gavin’s apartment door and knocked. There was no response. Another futile knock later, Nines tried to open the door and was disconcerted to find it unlocked.

At first glance, the apartment was mostly ordered except for the coffee table by the couch. There was a pint glass on it with an assortment of remotes standing in the water like a post-modernist bunch of flowers. A box of antihistamines sat on a small stack of plates while a roll of digestive biscuits were spilled under the table. It all screamed disturbed thinking to Nines and he tried to fathom why Gavin would do such things.

As for the man himself, he was face down on the sofa, arm hanging off at an awkward angle, neck twisted so he could breath and a crutch trapped uncomfortably under him as though he didn’t have the energy to push it out from under himself when he all but collapsed into the couch. To make matters worse, he t-shirt had ridden up considerably, leaving his back exposed which was more blue, black and purple rather than his usual skin tones. Nines hacked his medical file and frowned when he noted the entry about cracked ribs along with the advisory to avoid crutches as much as possible. But, Gavin didn’t have anyone to push him around in a wheelchair so upon his discharge (against medical advice) he was provided with crutches and encouraged to use them the least amount possible.

Nines’ objectives flashed through his vision. Deliver the message to Detective Reed and return to the precinct until the working day commenced again. Hesitantly, he approached the sofa, eyes lingered on the coffee table.

“Detective,” he said once he was at a socially acceptable distance. “Detective Reed!”

The second time he was louder and Gavin groaned as tried to fight through the fog of pain and sleep. It was impossible to miss his whimper of pain as he blinked his eyes up at Nines.

“You came,” he breathed and there was a hint of relief in his voice.

“Captain Fowler had asked me to ensure you got his message. You are on medical leave for a week.”

Something close to vulnerability flickered across Gavin’s features. His mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes watered.

“I see,” he managed to grit out.

Nines didn’t understand. His mission objective had been fulfilled, all he had to do now was return to the precinct until he could start work again. Yet something stopped him in his track. Whether it was the disappointment in Gavin’s tones or the helplessness he showed as he lay there, he didn’t know. All Nines knew was that he was faced with a red wall.

He could have returned to the precinct, obeyed his orders like he usually would. But through the wall he could see pain filled eyes. And it wasn’t just physical agony. Gavin was hurting down to his very core and nobody else was there to guide him through it. A new objective wrote itself into being.

_Stay with Gavin._

It contradicted his orders from Captain Fowler to return. Nines almost turned away from the wall and continued on his way. But there was a sniffle, so small and subtle he almost missed it. The tear that tracked across the bridge of Gavin’s nose was easier to spot.

“It’s okay Nines,” he tried to rasp without letting his breath hitch, “you go do your job.”

The wall was easy enough to vault and Nines leapt over it without hesitation. An onslaught of emotions assaulted him and he stumbled where he stood, barely caught himself on the back of the sofa.

“Nines?” Gavin asked, worry laced his words as he struggled to turn to see what was going on.

“My apologies,” Nines replied smoothly as he stood. “I didn’t expect emotions to be quite so physically affecting.”

Gavin’s mind was too addled to parse the meaning behind his words. But he huffed out an acknowledgement all the same.

Now that Nines wasn’t blinkered by his orders, he looked around again and his thirium pump squeezed as he took it all in. Without a word, he began to tidy away, pulled the remotes from the glass of water, picked up the biscuits from the floor, put the plates and antihistamines away. Instead, he grabbed the bag of painkillers from the counter along with a fresh glass of water. Carefully, he helped Gavin sit up to take a couple, pulled the crutch from under him and eased him onto his side.

“Sleep a little more, I’ll wake you in an hour,” he murmured.

Soft and compliant, Gavin nodded and did as he was told. True to his words, Nines woke him each hour, then every two hours until he was certain that the concussion didn’t pose a significant risk to Gavin’s health. While he waited, he researched recovery etiquette.

The next day, he didn’t go to work, but rather, he helped rub a soothing cream into the bruises which covered Gavin’s back, brought over ice packs to ease the pain along with painkillers.

Still, nobody knocked on Gavin’s door to stop by and make sure he was okay. Nines didn’t miss the wistful looks he cast the door every now and then though. In the kitchen, out of sight, Nines contacted Connor.

In the evening, just as Gavin had laid back down on the sofa, there was a knock on the door. Nines didn’t miss the way his heart rate picked up and muscles tensed with anxiety. He didn’t mention it though as he opened up the door with a small smile.

First into the apartment was Connor with a modest bouquet of flowers and a “get well soon” card stuck into them. Behind him, Hank held a “stop pretending to be sick” balloon which he smirked at as he passed over to Gavin. Tina had a box of chocolates in her hands while Miller clutched a gaudy stuffed kitten, it’s collar held a “sorry you’re paw-ly” tag.

“What’s this?” Gavin asked, bewildered as Nines put the flowers in a pint glass of water, the chocolates open on the table and within easy reach.

“You held up the suspect long enough for me to apprehend them,” he said as he ran a hand through Gavin’s hair fondly. “And you’re missed at the precinct.”

“Nines called us,” Connor piped up with a small smile. “I didn’t realise this was the etiquette for colleagues.”

“Usually the precinct sends chocolates and cards,” Hank grumbled. “We always assumed it was something sorted by Fowler’s assistant.”

“Sorry,” Chris at least had the decency to look chastised as he shuffled awkwardly on his feet.

Sheepishly, Gavin looked at the people in his living room and for the first time since the accident, his hand laced with Nines’, he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> From the sideblog - @dumbwaystodeviate  
> For non-deviation stories and prompts you can find me as @connorssock  
> For original fiction about androids falling in love, find me as Teddy Sweet on Amazon.


End file.
